The Toughest Job
by hap.e.daze
Summary: My take on TheDeep's challenge. My major character: Lindsay; My minor character: Christine; and the quote: "The first thing I learned on this job is anybody can do anything to anybody." Hope you enjoy! I had fun writing it!


A/N: My take on TheDeep's challenge. Major Character: Lindsay; Minor Character: Christine; the Quote: **"The first thing I learned on **_**this **_**job is anybody can do anything to anybody." **(originally by Danny)

This was fun to write! I hope you enjoy ...

* * *

_**The Toughest Job**_

Christine was a chef so she was, understandably, a bit chagrined at the way Mac was stirring noodles coated with powdered cheese. But when they asked for Macaroni & Cheese for dinner, Mac had quickly interrupted Christine's plans for a three-cheese gourmet version, instead pulling out a box of the instant dinner. "They won't eat what you're planning," he whispered. "Just … make this instead." She arched her eyebrows at the way he tried to thrust the box into her hands. She shook her head defiantly. She didn't go to culinary school to feed children something a lunch lady wouldn't prepare at school. Mac shrugged, undeterred. "Fine, I'll make it."

Which was how Christine found herself sitting at her kitchen watching little Jack push random buttons on Mac's treasured cell phone. She kept a guarded eye on the device, knowing Mac would completely lose his shit if he reached for the phone and learned the password had been changed. Or if, for instance, the telephone call to Chief Sinclair's home had actually been connected.

But Mac wasn't fazed. He had handed over the device willingly, without threat of bodily injury. It was a clear sign, if ever there was one, that Mac was completely smitten by these children. And while they were charming and sweet – yes, they _really _were – Christine could not untie the knots in her stomach. Or, as a small smile crossed her face, did the butterflies have something to do with the scene playing out in front of her? Mac stood in front of the stove, his badge gleamed on his pants and his maroon shirtsleeves were folded over his forearms. He watched the eight year old with eagle eyes as she stirred the instant noodles coated with artificially-colored, cheese-flavored powder.

"Uncle Mac?" Lucy asked quietly. "Is this right? Do you think it's done yet?" He looked over the top of her head and shook his head.

"No," he said. "All the powder granules need to dissolve still." He spoke like a Buddhist monk delivering the secrets of the meaning of life. As if making a box of Macaroni & Cheese was the epitome of gourmet cooking. Christine nearly laughed. Still, she was impressed with Mac's version of a balanced, kid-friendly meal. He was popping open the top of canned pears (fruit) and reaching into the refrigerator for carrot sticks (vegetable) – and, wait! _Canned pears_? Where did _those _come from?

But she didn't move a muscle for this dinner, so she nodded at Mac's sparkling eyes when he set three plates on the table. One for Lucy, one for Jack and one for Aunt Chrissy. He called quietly, "Milk or water?" or _How 'bout that red wine? _she thought, but didn't say. She watched as he set the milk in front of the children and then she smiled when he handed her the wine glass. He knew her so well. "You gonna be okay?" he whispered in her ear, masking the question with a gentle kiss.

She nodded. "I'm a pro after two days," she winked.

He looked at her in disbelief but nodded. "Lindsay and I overlap just a couple hours. I really do need her to help me with the spatter analysis, but she'll be here before bedtime. I'll make sure of it."

She nodded with far more confidence than she felt. Christine couldn't help it, but kids made her nervous. She didn't understand them, why they liked what they liked, hated what they hated, did what they did. And, she had begun to realize as Day Two of their weekend was coming to a close, they were exhausting. She had a new-found respect for Lindsay and Danny and what it took to raise children.

Her husband, on the other hand, understood kids. It was a fact that had startled Christine. She would not have thought his stern mannerisms would be endearing to children. But these kids had him in the palms of their hands, she noted. The phone, for example. Christine didn't even touch it, but Jack had convinced her husband to download the latest version of a game featuring a talking sponge. Mac had done so willingly, a smile on his face as he did it. And, an American Girl doll was the second prime example. Never in a million years would Christine have expected the way the eight year old had cuddled into his lap, holding a doll named Molly, and gotten him to watch a movie by the very same title.

Still. He _was_ leaving her alone with them, and if there was any trouble, the blame fell entirely on his shoulders given that he did, after all, set the schedule for the parents.

* * *

"Okay," Christine called. "Lucy, your mom really wants you to have your homework done before she gets here. And Jack, come on. Please. Just … why don't you watch TV?" she suggested.

"Aunt Chrissy, he's bugging me," Lucy announced, a notebook in her lap.

"And she's looking at me," the four year old replied.

"Well, just look in another direction," Christine replied sensibly. "And you won't even know if she's looking at you." He did, but not before walking past his sister and pinching her.

"Ouch!" Lucy wailed dramatically. She was able to call forward huge crocodile tears, the likes of which Christine had never seen. Christine exhaled and resisted the urge to place her hands over her head and hide. How come this didn't happen when Mac was home too?

The buzzer signaling the arrival of another person of legal age had never sounded so good to Christine. She left them in the den and took three steps to the door of the apartment. She opened it and stepped into the hallway. Just for a second to wait for Lindsay. Literally, it _was _only a second.

But when she and Lindsay walked back to the den, World War III had broken out. Two small bodies rolled as they gripped each other by the hair. Someone was crying, and someone was screeching, but Christine couldn't identify which one. A third grade notebook had been ripped to shreds and a four year old dinosaur was missing a leg.

Christine stared wide-eyed, stunned into immobility. Thankfully, Lindsay reacted. She shouted, "Hey! That's enough." The two children untangled themselves and rushed to their mother, forgetting for the moment why they were fighting. They embraced her, overjoyed to see their mother after two days. Lindsay hugged each of them, wiped away some tears for Lucy and kissed away a bump for Jack. Then, with a mock swat to the butt, she sternly sent them to the extra bedroom to get their things.

Christine watched it all in wonder, shocked by the turn of events and amazed by Lindsay's ability to seize control. She reached for the torn notebook, fumbled for the scotch tape and tried to patch together the spelling sentences. Lindsay shook her head with a roll of the eyes and said, "She'll just have to redo them."

"I'm sorry. I should have –"

"Don't apologize, Christine. Danny and I can't thank you enough. We really needed to help his mother this weekend and I know Mac's so backed up at the Lab and we were in such a bind. It was so kind of you to take them."

Christine laughed a little and said, "They really were a pleasure."

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "I bet," she said sarcastically.

"They were," Christine insisted. "It's only since …"

"Since Mac left?" Lindsay finished for her.

Christine laughed now. "How do you do it, Lindsay?"

"It's the hardest job I've ever had. Hands-down," she said quietly.

Suddenly, they heard a crash come from the second bedroom. "Oh my god," Lindsay said. "If they broke something that Mac – " Blood-curdling screams followed. The two women rushed in to find Mac's insanely expensive printer perched precariously on the edge of his desk and three forensic textbooks upside down on the hardwood floors – the source of the crash. Lindsay slid the printer back to a safer location and Christine picked up the books.

Their relief at nothing essential being broken was short-lived however when they saw the blood. Little Lucy held her head and little Jack, looking satisfied, held a fistful of Lucy's blonde hair. A tiny trickle of blood fell from his nose.

Christine was certain Jack had started it. He had ripped up the spelling sentences after all and now he was holding a clump of hair in his hand. All the evidence was before her. Lindsay sighed. She shook her head and reached for Lucy's arm. "You're fine," she snapped, pulling the child's hand away from her head. She dragged her to her feet and said, "Stop crying, Luce. There is nothing wrong." Lucy took a deep breath and then Lindsay accused, "You punched your brother, didn't you?" Christine looked on in wonder as the seasoned cop extracted a confession from her eight year old.

_How did you do that?_ Christine was about to ask.

With a clenched jaw, Lindsay apologized to Christine. **"The first thing I learned on **_**this **_**job is anybody can do anything to anybody."**


End file.
